


I Want To Kill You

by Froggy_Horntail



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Mindfuck, Multi, Other, Talon Hanzo Shimada, Team Talon (Overwatch), also rating may be subject to change; haven't decided yet, basically Moira makes these snipers completely emotionally dependent on her and it's Fucked Up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-05-01 12:45:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14520882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froggy_Horntail/pseuds/Froggy_Horntail
Summary: For the first time in years, Amelie LaCroix has felt an emotion besides the thrill that comes with a successful kill.She feels alive again. She feels she has a purpose in life, besides just being Talon's top assassin....which is a searing desire to see their newest recruit fall at any cost.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [piggywrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggywrites/gifts), [AstralOmega](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstralOmega/gifts).



> Be the change you want to see in the world, they said. Create the rarepair content you want to see in the fandom, they said.
> 
> FIVE MONTHS I’VE HAD NO MUSE FOR ANYTHING AND THIS IS WHAT FINALLY COMES TO ME. I HATE THIS. And I 10000% blame you for it, Baguette, that’s why you’ll see some *very* familiar faces in this first chapter. S u f f e r for your c r i m e s.
> 
> (Title inspired by the Powerman 5000 song of the same name which has always given me a lovely slow hatefucky vibe.)

**_Monte Carlo, Monaco_ **

_"You do remember what happened the LAST time we were here, right? Pretty sure they haven't forgotten that."_

Despite the sharp and expertly tailored suit he sported instead of his typical power gauntlet, there was still no mistaking the imposing figure of Akande Ogundimu, better known by his title of ‘Doomfist’, standing out among the other casino patrons.

And yet, he merely smiles pleasantly at one of the nearby server omnics; lifting a champagne flute with surprising delicacy from the tray it offers while Sombra continues to chatter idly over the communication link hidden in his ear. 

"I have no intentions of shedding excessive blood here tonight. In fact, if you recall, we had no intentions of doing it last time, either."

Though she did have a point - no doubt the unfortunate incident with the goons of that wretched snake Vialli explained the increased security that Doomfist could see. He surveys armed men and omnics alike over the rim of the flute as he sips his champagne; posted at the numerous entrances and exits to the main floor. Probably even more hidden on the upper levels that he couldn’t immediately see.

There were even a few patrolling among the idle rich. You could always pick them out even when they were ‘undercover.’ Always on alert, always stiff and serious despite the exuberant mood of the room. So predictable.

If their target was here - which Doomfist had no doubt he was, Sombra’s intel was rarely ever wrong - then he’d certainly have his work cut out for him. And so would the average person trying to find him.

However, one does not become the leader of Talon by being _average._

Doomfist could almost picture the eyeroll and shrug that accompanies Sombra’s tone when she speaks again.

_"Hey, I'm just saying. Maxie might like you and have a lot of pull here, but you still might wanna watch your back. You don’t have señora azul or Gabe to cover you this time, after all.”_

It was true - he had only brought her and left most of their usual team behind. He wanted to ensure they were successful in their mission; that meant trying to cut out as many variables as possible. Too many high-ranking Talon members would surely put their target on immediate alert, which could lead to another one of those... _unfortunate incidents._

This was a diplomatic mission, after all.

Well. He considers it diplomatic, at least.

“Then we’d better make this a short visit. Spotted him yet?”

For a few moments, there’s only the soft clicking of the hacker’s nails as her fingers fly over a digi-keypad, barely audible above the general buzz of the rest of the main floor.

Then:

_“Gotcha. There’s a statue garden on the roof. He’s up there.”_

“Good. I’m making my way there. Any resistance I should expect?”

_“Not as much as you might think.”_

“...is that so? He’s made the first half of this job easy for us, then.”

He deposits his empty glass on another server’s tray, striding confidently past the multitudes of gamblers and their armed entourages. Some of them are bold enough to spare him a second glance; a few even instinctively go for the weapons hidden on their persons.

Those were always the younger ones. Amateurs champing at the bit to get a little glory, thinking they could justify taking him on.

The older ones are the ones that stop them. The ones who knew who he was. The ones who knew not just what he could do, but the connections he possessed.

Not just the ones with Talon, either. The Ogundimu family had many friends on this floor. Corporate partners. A lot of money went out to these people - legal and non. Should that cashflow be cut off…how many of them think they can live off glory alone?

The stairwell to the roof is conspicuously absent of guards - something a few of the more drunken guests have taken advantage of; giggling and grabbing each other like horny teenagers on prom night.

Doomfist passes them without concern. Let the fools revel while they can. Besides, Sombra was no doubt compiling anything blackmail-worthy on the many cameras she had control of.

On the rooftop, the pleasantly cool breeze is a welcome relief after the stuffy heat of the stairwell. Various statues in Greek and Renaissance-inspired styles stand among well-landscaped topiary; turning the place into a maze of stark black and white under the moonlight. Somewhere just ahead and out of sight, the sounds of a bubbling fountain.

All in all, quite a peaceful scene. Save the unconscious bodies on either side of the doorway.

Doomfist counts them. Four men, two omnics. Including one who had the misfortune of taking an arrow under its chin and up through its skullplate.

With careful steps, he makes his way deeper into the garden, eyes constantly scanning, scanning; alert for the slightest movement or sign of danger. As much as their target was prey, he was just as much a predator - the arrow lodged in the omnic guard’s head was proof of that.

There.

Near the western edge of the building. Were it not for the fact that he was not made of marble like the others around him, one could easily mistake him for just another statue; he sat that still. Only the wind’s slight stirring of the golden scarf tying his hair back gave him away.

It was a good spot for someone in this particular line of work. A wide and unobstructed view of the entry road and the drop off and pickup point for the casino guests, but with perfect cover to hide thanks to the building’s classical architecture.

Doomfist stops just a few meters away. He does hope this will remain civil. Be a shame to go through the trouble of this trip just to end up having to kill the man.

“Mister Shimada, is it?”

Hanzo Shimada does not answer at first. Merely sights down his apparent target - a tall bespectacled Asian man, getting out of a limo and being greeted by a tiny doll-like blonde in a shimmery red dress.

When he does speak, his voice is low and unwavering, and he doesn’t pull his gaze from the target. “If you know who I am, then you know why I am here, and what I do. If you are here to stop me, know that better men than you have tried.”

Anyone else might have been incensed by the arrogant jab. Doomfist merely considers it amusing, smiling slightly as he smoothes the front of his suit jacket with a hand.

“No, Mister Shimada. Do forgive the cliche, but I am here to make you an offer that you can’t refuse.”

He snorts at that. “Again, you would not be the first. Just as many people demand my services as much as try to put an end to them. However, I am, as cliche as it is also to say, a ‘free agent’. Now, if you will excuse me-”

Doomfist hazards moving closer, and he can see the way the archer tenses instinctively, but he merely makes a show of leaning forward a bit and peering down at the duo chatting animatedly just on the casino’s steps.

“Lai-Ying Liu, the Ambassador of Macau, hm? An interesting mark. Certainly a lot of money, legitimate and otherwise, goes through their casinos over there as it does here. Someone must be wanting more than their fair share, to put you on this assignment.”

“...your point?”

“Well, certainly I’m not criticizing the plan. It *is* a good plan. Kill the ambassador, every investor in his region will go on alert and start looking for proper protections for their funds. Which your contractor is no doubt counting on; to offer a safe haven to the scared fatcats and then rob them blind in the ensuing panic.”

His smile broadens, just ever so slightly.

“Yes, a very good plan indeed. Though, should you go through with it, it will almost certainly upset the Monacan ambassador down there...and when Miss Rochelle gets upset...well, that’s when Mr. Braginsky gets upset, too. And when Mr. Braginsky gets upset…”

He doesn’t have to continue. Hanzo finally reacts to that. He lowers his bow, swearing in Japanese under his breath.

Ivan Braginsky was the Russian ambassador. Hanzo had heard plenty of whispers about how he and Angelique Rochelle; the ambassador of Monaco; were an item, but he paid no mind to what he considered petty underworld gossip.

What he HAD paid attention to, however, were the rumors of the various connections that Braginsky had. From the bratva; the Russian mafia equivalent of his country’s own Yakuza triads; to the second-generation KGB agents in his country’s government, there were a lot of dangerous men who had a knack for making people ‘disappear’ for lesser crimes.

Even if the rumors were just that, rumors, the massive bear of a man was still an intimidating force all on his own. There was a reason very few people offered contracts on that man, and why even fewer dared to try and take them.

This complication was not part of his own contract. Whether it was just oversight on the part of his employer, or a foolish set-up intended to take him down; Hanzo could not say. But either way, he could not complete his mission like this.

With a great deal of frustrated restraint, he re-sheathes his bow across his back, just as the two ambassadors head inside the building.

Damn. It never looked good if he had to back out of a contract...and worse, this was supposed to have a good payout. Travel expenses for well-to-do locales like this weren’t exactly cheap.

He turns to glare at Doomfist, to ask him who he thought he was, butting into his affairs like this, but recognition quickly dawns on his face as he gets a proper look at the towering man.

“...you’re that warlord. The one they call the Scourge of Numbani.”

Doomfist laughs. “Oh now, warlord is such a harsh word. I prefer to call it...being a visionary general. A general in a new world that I shall build out of the ashes of the former one. But I suppose that is not as ‘catchy’.”

Hanzo doesn’t seem to share his good humor. He simply stares him down (or up, given their height difference).

“You surely did not come here just to interfere in my business. So state yours already.”

“Ah yes of course. Right to business. So, Mister Shimada, about my offer…"


	2. Chapter 2

Of course no one ever truly gets ‘right’ to business when they say they do.

First there was the matter of finding a more secure location to discuss matters. It certainly wouldn’t do to have the two of them discovered with all those unconscious guards nearby, why, people might assume they were _both_ responsible for their incapacitated state!

But, as with everything else on this mission, Doomfist had a plan for that.

He gave Sombra a signal, and then informed Hanzo to come find him in ten minutes.

Truth be told, he needed less than five. But ten was considered courtesy.

He sits patiently in the spacious backseat of a limo the two Talon agents had...the polite phrase would be _procured_ ; parked just out of the way of the general traffic, but not so far as to arouse suspicion. It was quite the luxurious machine. Top of the line model, full minibar, privacy-tinted windows, high definition entertainment system.

And most importantly: an onboard computer-guided navigation AI.

Older models, the more ‘classic’ ones that the idle rich sometimes preferred (even ones styled with actual wheels instead of hoverpads, if one could believe that) often still needed a driver - this newer one, however, was programmed to be completely self-driving.

All Sombra had to do was run one augmented hand over the door to unlock it, and another over the dashboard to have the thing completely and utterly under her control.

From the front seat, illuminated by the faint purple glow of the hacked instruments panel, she lays stretched out on her back and stares up at the vehicle’s ceiling; boredly tracing patterns in the air.

“So how do you know the _pendejo_ will even meet us here instead of just turning tail and running?”

“Honor is _very_ important to someone like Hanzo Shimada. A man like him does not back out of these kinds of arrangements easily or willingly once they have been made.”

“...boy, sounds like he’s real fun at parties even when he *isn’t* planning on killing someone at them.”

Doomfist opens his mouth to respond, but a loud click from the roof alerts them both to the return of their expected guest, as does the sound of the moonroof being manually slid open.

The years of shinobi training have clearly done wonders for his dexterity, as he drops quietly to the carpeted limo floor through the small opening without so much as catching his quiver on the edge of it.

Sombra sits up quickly, shooting an annoyed look at the archer. “Hey, this thing has DOORS you know, you could have just-”

The sudden swish of the privacy screen going up cuts her off, though Hanzo could swear he saw the woman’s eyes glowing an angry purple just before they disappeared behind the tinted glass.

Doomfist knew that the privacy screen wasn’t really going to stop her from having eyes and ears tuned on this meeting; wired in the way she was. But in his experience, the illusion of privacy tended to put people more at ease.

(Though that certainly didn’t stop Sombra from trying to get the last word in edgewise over their comms.)

_“Hope you know what you’re doing, Akande. If you ask me, Talon has enough drama queens on the payroll already.”_

Judging from the way Hanzo settles on the edge of the seat across from him; not even relaxing his grip on his bow (even though both of them knew it was practically useless in these close quarters), he could certainly use some easing.

“...your companion appears quite. Outspoken.”

Doomfist shrugs. “I would much rather that the people I work alongside be brazenly honest than some sycophant hiding their true intentions under a mask of flattery.”

As he speaks, he reaps the bounty of the minibar, fixing them both a drink of something quite a bit stronger than the champagne being served back inside the casino; and vintage enough that it was probably older than the both of them.

“And in regards to that, I will get straight to the point: I would like you to join our organization and utilize your various skills for Talon.”

Hanzo neither responds nor drinks when the bourbon is passed to him. Just grips the glass with his free hand and eyes the other man with clear suspicion.

Doomfist just smiles. “...A cautious man. I respect that. But trust me, Mister Shimada. If I had any intentions to kill you, I would have done it by now, and I certainly wouldn’t be offering you a position among us.”

Just to prove his point, he throws back his own.

Another few tense moments pass before Hanzo relents and takes a wary drink of his own, grimacing slightly as the strong liquid burns its way down his throat. He didn’t much care for bourbon, vintage or not, but it was at least bracing enough to help loosen his tongue.

The Scourge of Numbani liked brazen honesty, did he? Well. Far be it from him to disappoint his ‘host.’

“I don’t know how many times I must repeat myself until you understand that I have no interest in working for you or anyone else exclusively. I prefer the freedom to choose my own contracts; without the headache that is trying to keep the peace between rival criminal factions.”

“You have made that point very clear. But I believe if you consider the benefits Talon can bring you, you will change your mind.”

Hanzo sits back a bit more in his seat, making an indignant sort of noise in his throat. “Hmph. Doubtful. I am not totally unfamiliar with your organization. You may be better equipped than the average street gang, but at the core both of you are no different: just another petty bunch of murderers and thieves.”

_“Well I’d say that’s the pot calling the kettle black, all things considered. He comes from one of the oldest Yakuza clans in Japan, and he has the nerve to call *us* petty murderers and thieves? You should see this list of charges I got from Interpol’s database-”_

Doomfist mutes the commlink in his ear briefly, in order to focus on his own words.

“I will not deny, Talon’s goals...did make a shift during my time away-”

“While you were imprisoned.”

Doomfist liked to consider himself a patient man. Even when this archer was clearly determined to test the limits of it.

Still, there's a certain frostiness to his tone despite the smile he keeps up as he refills both their glasses.

“ _Yes._ While I was imprisoned. But that was, you might say, the previous administration’s decisions; to focus more on material gain for some of its members. Members who, I can assure you, are no longer a part of our organization.”

The look on Vialli’s face when he had flung him off that bridge in Venice had been priceless.

“However, now that I am personally back in control, our goals have once more shifted, back towards greater things; things more important than something as...petty...as mere profit.”

He merely gets a raised eyebrow in response.

“Let me explain. The Omnic Crisis did not end with the fall of the last machine. The aftermath of it was just as devastating, if not moreso. Natural disasters. Civil unrest. Humanity thought it had gone to the brink during the war, but we were only truly gazing into the abyss after. When we nearly finished what the machines themselves started.”

Doomfist pauses to take another drink, looking not at Hanzo now but into the crystal glass as he swirls it a bit; setting the ice to a soft clinking.

“The weak were lost in the ashes. The strong survived. And they didn’t just survive, they *rose* from them, greater than before. Only through conflict do we evolve, Mister Shimada.”

When he looks up again, his expression is steely, determined.

“Talon seeks to evolve the world once more. Would you rather be just another consumed in the fire when it is ignited...or the one fanning the flames?”

Now, it isn’t like he’s expecting a standing ovation for his speech. This wasn’t some lofty concept proposal he was presenting to a bunch of brown-nosing white collar board members in his family’s company.

But if scowls could be weaponized, then Doomfist would be dead several times over for the one Hanzo is leveling at him.

“Very pretty words there. Pretty words that ultimately. Mean. _Nothing._ ”

The archer practically spits the last word.

“I knew there was a reason I found you familiar, and it wasn’t just your reputation for what you did in Numbani. Tell me, did you use the same speech when you approached my father with this very same offer? It has been years since I thought of it, but I remember now. You wanted to enter into a partnership with him as well, offering up this same... _nonsense_ about changing the world, utilizing our clan’s power and his own skills.”

Hanzo slams his fist on the edge of the minibar, settling the bottles to rattling.

“He was no fool, however. He denied you then. And I am denying you now! I want nothing to do with you, with Talon, any of it! I walk my own path. And I will be taking my leave.”

For several moments, there’s a terse silence, until eventually Doomfist sighs, motioning outward with his hands in an apparent gesture of defeat.

“...unfortunate that you feel that way, Mister Shimada. But very well. No one is holding you captive here, you’re certainly free to go.”

Hanzo makes to stand, turning his back to the other man as he reaches up for the sliding panel of the moonroof again, ignoring him even as Doomfist continues to talk.

“I had hoped that you would be wiser than Sojiro was. But, you have every right to seek your own destiny. I can respect that too.”

Just as he was about to plant a foot on the seat and pull himself up through the opening, that’s when he sprung his trap card. Spoken just quietly enough that the archer could hear it.

“Perhaps I simply found and approached the wrong heir...”

Doomfist can practically see the hackles raise as Hanzo pauses in his exiting, and it’s to his credit that he manages to resist the urge to smirk.

Now he has him.

“...hm? Something else you needed, Mister Shimada? Or did you decide you would be using the door instead this time?”

He casts a glance over his tattooed shoulder at the still-seated man, equal parts offended and suspicious.

“...what _exactly_ is it you want from me? You are surely aware that the Shimada clan’s power is...not what it once was, since my departure. There is surely little left that would still appeal to someone like you.”

“I am quite aware of your clan’s fall from grace. However, the name alone still carries a great deal of weight. Not to mention the skills you possess as an assassin that brought you to our consideration in the first place. Is it honestly so strange that we would want that aiding us in our goals?”

“...hm.”

“And, if that is not enough to convince you, there is always the fact that with Talon’s resources...you can restore your clan’s power to what it once was. If not more. Mister Shimada - Hanzo, let’s drop the formalities.”

Doomfist leans forward, steepling his fingers.

“Do you think that what we would be asking you to do is really any different than what you’re currently doing now? At least with us, you would have a certain...comraderie again. A network of some of the most powerful people and minds that would make things easier for you.”

Hanzo knew it was a tempting offer. Very tempting. He had been wandering for so long, seeking some way to restore his lost honor after he had so shamefully fled from his own home after what...had happened with his brother. Practically aimless. Perhaps, if he found a purpose with Talon, seeking to restore what he had let fall into ruin…

But still. He would have to be careful. His father must have had good reasons not to want to enter into any deals with this man.

“Let me once again be very clear: I do not trust you.”

“...No wise man would.”

“But I will...consider your offer.”

“Good. We’ll be in touch.”

And just like that, Hanzo was on his way again, disappearing back through the moonroof as Doomfist cleared away their glasses.

The privacy screen rolls down after a few minutes and Sombra reappears, looking upwards in the direction the archer had gone as she rested her chin on folded arms.

“ _Finally._ Sometimes all that brooding shit is just annoying. Thought we got enough of that from Gabe. And what was all that nonsense about his dad?”

“Before I was subjected to Helix Security’s particular brand of hospitality, I attempted to approach Sojiro Shimada some years ago about allying his clan with Talon. He refused, simple as that.”

His expression is inscrutable. “...which was quite unfortunate for him. Perhaps it would have saved him in the end.”

Sombra eyes Doomfist hard for a few long moments before shrugging, and leaning over towards the minibar.

“Tch. I need a drink after all this. Got anymore of that bourbon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so much dialogue. Lord, so much. Is every angsty bearded dragon man this uncooperative to write, or just the ones I fall in love with?
> 
> I didn't think I'd manage to bang out a second chapter, at least not as soon as I did, but then Waifu got emotionally invested and well, I can never say no to her.
> 
> Think we'll finally get around to introducing our resident mad scientist in the next chapter, and boy, that's gonna be fun to write.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Research Sector, Talon Operations Base, Undisclosed Location_ **

Moira O’Deorain adjusted one of the focus knobs of the microscope she was peering through.

The lab was quiet today, and not just because of its excellent soundproofing. Akande and Sombra had been out doing...well, god only knows what, she really couldn’t care what they were planning unless it directly involved her work. LaCroix was probably on the practice range putting every other sniper and trooper on the field to shame.

And as for Reyes...well.

On the sample slide she was examining, something black and incorporeal seemed to squirm uncomfortably under the bright scope light as it was brought closer to it.

At any rate, it had been nice to be able to focus on her research without interruptions these past few days. Usually she could only get this kind of peace when she was operating at home in Oasis.

Such was life when you worked for one of the most powerful terrorist organizations in the world.

Of course, as soon as the thought crossed her mind, the lab’s AI system rang out with a notification, causing her to exhale slowly through her nose in frustration. Well. It HAD been nice.

 **“Incoming Message From:** _“Who d’you think, chica~?”_

...Speak of the obnoxious devil. Or ‘diablo’, all things considered.

**“Open up reply channel, or send to inbox?”**

Mismatched eyes roll. “As if I have any choice in the matter. Open channel.”

Sombra’s voice took over the speakers, full of her usual unprofessionalism. _“Hey *doc*, since everyone knows you screen their calls, except me, ‘cause you can’t, haha, Akande told me to tell you to quit playin’ mad scientist in there for a little while so you can check out a new recruit.”_

The geneticist doesn’t even bother to look up from the microscope, her tone as curt and dry as Sombra’s was smug and gleeful. “I’m working. Besides, there’s plenty of other physicians on the base, have one of those drooling imbeciles do it. I’m not the go-to for every underling who needs a checkup.”

_“Yeah, he thought you might say that, but he wants you to do this one personally.”_

“And give me just one good reason why.”

_“Well...for one thing, it’s Hanzo Shimada.”_

Now that. That finally gives Moira pause.

“...Shimada? You can’t mean the assassin and Yakuza heir.”

_“The very one and the same~.”_

“Surely this is just another one of your very poorly thought out jests.”

_“Aw, now, that’s cold. Would I lie to you about something as important as this?”_

The answer comes without hesitation. “...yes.”

_“Okay, fine, but it’s true. We had a little meeting with him in Monte Carlo...offered him a job position with the company. I’m guessing he finally talked himself into it and accepted after a lot of tough guy posturing, and now we’re bringing him in. No catch or anything, I swear.”_

So that’s what they’d been up to. Moira knew that Doomfist had been wanting the prodigal son of the Shimada clan empire as an ally for a while, but most efforts just to get ahold of him to even make the offer had either been dodged or outright refused.

...she wondered what finally brought him around.

“I see. ETA?”

_“Ah, pffff, let’s see...about an hour? Akande told me to call you once the dropship started gettin’ close. Hope that’s not too much of a problem for you.”_

“None whatsoever. End call.”

The AI severs the connection obediently. Moira didn’t really care that Sombra might be offended that she was ‘hung up on’ so abruptly - especially since the hacker had done the same thing plenty of times before on all of them, anyway.

Right now...she had new work to do.

She slips the sample plate from the scope, bustling off to put it in the cooler used for specimen storage, while offering a flippant wave of one of her valved hands at the nearby exam table.

“You’re free to go, Reyes. I’ll recall you if need be for further testing after I do the workup on Shimada.”

The sound of the table’s restraints snapping open is drowned out only by the warped flapping of the wraith’s smoky form heading out the door...and a single guttural sentence just before he vanishes completely.

“Hmph. It’s his funeral.”

= o = o = o = o = o = o =

Hanzo didn’t consider himself a man easily made uncomfortable. He’d seen people die, at his own hand more often than not. He’d seen the seediest of drug dens and whorehouses during the height of his family’s power.

Even being escorted to this base blind so as to keep its location secret (they didn’t trust him anymore than he did them, clearly) by what he could only assume were some of Talon’s top soldiers did not instill much concern. He knew this game, had seen it play out a thousand times before amidst a thousand different criminal elements. All of this, he was prepared for.

...however. The physician they sent him to to get checked out as part of his intake?

She set him on edge like nothing else had before.

Certainly he was no stranger to doctors. He’d been patched up by plenty when some of his contracts got messy.

The way this one looked at him, though...always keeping at least one eye on him (and typically that masked one hidden behind that strange silver plate, more often than not) as she took notes on a digipad while a number of medscanner drones buzzed around him and took readings after he’d disrobed.

It was more than just the look of someone who saw him as something to be studied (and there had been plenty of those too; how many scientists had desired to know the secret to the dragons that those of Shimada blood controlled?). It was the kind of look that implied wanting to be the one to personally take him apart; piece by piece, and put him back together in new and _creative_ ways once it was figured out what made him ‘tick.’

And that they would enjoy every minute of it to boot.

She takes a moment to turn her back to him and tap a few more things into her pad based on what data the scanners had gathered, and he can finally get a proper look at her without feeling scrutinized.

She was tall, spindly. Flyaway orange hair. Some kind of mechanical apparatus on her back pulsed with a purple and yellow mixture that didn’t seem quite liquid or gas but something in-between; which separated into tubes running down each arm and to those strange-looking valves embedded in her augmented hands. How she managed to get anything done with them...like that, he had no idea.

Hanzo had so many questions for this...creature. Yet all he can manage:

“They did not tell me you would be a woman.”

Her reaction surprises him. He expected offense, but instead, Moira merely laughs lightly, looking back at him with a thin smile.

“Why, not old-fashioned are you, Mister Shimada?”

“No. Merely...surprised, I suppose.”

“Don’t worry, you’re in good hands. Not that you’ll probably need them. My, but you are the _impressive_ specimen, aren’t you…?” She says it more to herself than to him, and he doesn’t like the almost manic glitter that shines in her eyes when she does.

He hazards shooting her a confused look, brow furrowing slightly, and if anything, that only makes her smile widen, setting aside the pad as she presents him first her left hand, then the right.

In one, there was a yellowish mist coming from the valve. The other, a swirling purple stream. Both coalescing into round spheres with just a small gesture before they vanish back into her hands.

“One hand gives, the other takes. They didn’t tell you much at all about who you would be working with, did they?”

“No, they didn’t. Though I...do not think they would have even if I had asked, anyway.”

“Well. Then consider this your orientation. You’re among some of the most brilliant individuals in the world now, Mister Shimada. You’ve already met Akande and...Sombra, no doubt.” Despite the professional tone she kept, the pause betrayed her distaste for the hacker quite clearly. “And I’m sure you’ll run into Reyes eventually...though preferably not alone in a dark corridor somewhere.”

Her laugh over that was even more unnerving than the last.

“Maximilien is plenty amicable, if you manage to get that omnic to stop counting his casino profits long enough to initiate a conversation. Sanjay, of course, is usually only here for the most important council meetings. Prefers to stay in his little ivory tower in Rio more often than not. And of course, you know me. Dr. Moira O’Deorain, at your service.”

She even gives him a little mock bow with her introduction. Based just on what he’d seen so far, Hanzo wondered if criminal eccentricity wasn’t just an appealing draw for Talon, but practically a requirement.

He kept that comment to himself, though.

“Which leaves, who else-...ah, yes, _LaCroix_ . Our other sniper. Don’t let her frosty demeanor put you off, I think you two will have a _lot_ to talk about.”

“...what do you mean by that?”

Moira just smirks mysteriously, and once again, Hanzo feels a deep discomfort that he cannot quite describe in words. It’s a miracle he doesn’t actually squirm under her stare.

“You’ll see. Now, Mister Shimada...readings indicate your vitals are all quite good, nothing that needs immediate medical attention. I’ll write up a proper physical report for our records, and then we can figure out your training regimen to refine you to Talon’s...particular standards. In the meantime, you may take your leave; try and settle in, all that. We’ll be seeing each other again, I’m certain.”

Relieved that he was about to be free of this disquieting woman, he was just picking up his gear and shouldering his kyudo-gi back on, about to head out the door; when he feels the surprisingly cold touch of the geneticist’s hand on his bare shoulder. Her long nails digging slightly into his skin as she ignores the way he jolts and leans down to his level, her voice low.

“Oh, and Hanzo? Should you need _anything_ at all outside of medical assistance? Please. Don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Erm...thank you.”

The moment she released him, he practically bolted, and he could feel that stare of hers boring into his back until the automatic door sealed shut behind him. Frankly, he couldn’t get out of her lab fast enough.

...he was starting to have second thoughts about this decision already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware this is about...eh, 2, 3 months later an update? But I caught a respiratory infection right after I finished chapter 2 that lasted six weeks, then caught a case of the 'shiny new obsession; must annoy everyone with it' thanks to @LittleBaguette giving me gateway drugs in the form of Eurovision while I was incapable of doing anything else but coughing and sleep-sweating, and I've only just now resurfaced from the burning piano coffin long enough to write something that wasn't complete gibberish.
> 
> My sincerest apologies for that. Next up, somehow taking 4 chapters to introduce despite this being a fic primarily about her and Fus Ryu Dah's problems, Widowmaker. And boy oh boy. Then we're gonna have some fun.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Armory Sector, Talon Operations Base_ **

The shooting range had always been a busy place. Talon soldiers constantly running through drills to keep their skills sharp.

Since the controversial recall of Overwatch had thrown new chaos into the terrorist organization’s already chaotic plans, however, the place was more active than ever. Between the development testing for new weapons that were coming out of Talon research labs and manufacturers, and the need to train new recruits; there was almost never a time gunfire wasn’t sounding across the field towards the poor battered targets.

The din did not bother Widowmaker much as she stood in the tallest sniper’s nest on the range. If anything; after the amount of time she’d spent at her craft; even the distinctive crack of her own shots had long since faded into what she considered background noise.

Eventually even those stop ringing out, though, as she lets out a bored sigh. Shouldering her rifle, she raised her visor. It registered a 100% accuracy rate, while readings of others on the field that were also being monitored came out significantly lower. Even the highest never got very far above 80%.

Amateurs, all of them. Would this be better if she were intoxicated? Blindfolded? Perhaps then one of them would actually be a challenge for her.

She disassembled her personal rifle, Widow’s Kiss, and put it back in its case, before she turned to examine the rack of other guns that was in the sniper nest. Long blue fingers traced over a few of the weapons - she noticed some of them were fresh off the assembly line. The scent of oil and new metal; not yet marred by the cling of gunpowder; was all over them.

Unlikely as it was, perhaps having to familiarize herself with a new gun would help even the ‘playing field’ among the other recruits, so to speak.

However, before she could even pick one out to work with; an unusual sound caught the attention of her sharp ears.

It was quiet; almost like a curiously faint whistling - but it was just strange enough that it managed to stand out from the gunfire.

Widowmaker frowned; her eyes narrowing as she turned and listened to try and pinpoint the sound’s source, before the whistling became a shattering as something landed in her sniper’s nest; traveling with enough force that it managed to embed itself in the alcove’s floor.

Instinctive reflexes made her roll for defensive cover and her rifle was put back together in her hands in seconds; eyes scanning through her scope for the potential attacker in the direction the projectile had come from.

However, after several moments; when it was clear no more were coming her way; she warily lowered the gun and peered from around her cover.

The projectile was still there, still vibrating slightly from how hard it had landed. It made no subtle beeps or hissing that indicated explosive ordinance or the release of something toxic, so she carefully knelt as she approached it; grasping it and prying it up out of the sniper nest’s floor to get a better look at it.

What on earth-?

Was this an _arrow?_

True, even Widowmaker had to admit it was quite a piece of workmanship. A dark gray-black composite material shaft and fletching, bright steel arrowhead equipped with a softly blinking blue sensor.

...but still, what on earth? Why would there be an arrow on the shooting range, of all places? The weapons development teams were all about pushing forward, making progress in creating new and more efficient ways to kill people. Something this... _archaic_...wouldn’t come out of their labs.

The door to the nest suddenly opens, and she rises, still clutching the arrow in her hand, as one of the underling snipers (distinguished by their iconically red uniform) stands there babbling like a fool - both apologies in her direction, and to an unseen figure just out of sight.

“General LaCroix, I am, uh, so sorry, ma’am, if anything happened - see, this is generally why we wait to process, um, unorthodox weaponry, before letting it on the range - but we have a new recruit and obviously there wasn’t time-...”

“Be quiet.”

The woman shuts up immediately. The helmet the other sniper wore didn’t show expression, but Widowmaker could certainly imagine the worry that was present beneath it as the woman fidgeted slightly under her cold glare.

“Now. You say we have a new recruit, _oui_?”

“Yes, that would be-”

“I said _quiet._ ”

The sniper takes a few moments as she tries to figure out how to respond without speaking before finally remembering to nod.

Widowmaker can only roll her eyes. _Idiots._ She was surrounded by idiots.

“And where are they?”

Perhaps relieved now that there’s a new target for the spider’s wrath, the other sniper quickly steps aside and gestures to whoever it was they were originally speaking to; just out of sight.

Hanzo stepped into the sniper’s nest then, dark eyes meeting her own intense gold ones before he bows his head slightly to her in greeting.

“Hanzo Shimada. At your service.”

She can’t help it: the moment she sees him, Widowmaker shakes her head; chuckling softly - which for her might as well have been hysterics.

Ridiculous. He was absolutely ridiculous. What was this outfit? Where did they FIND this fool?

“You cannot be serious. This is our newest recruit?”

She steps around him, scrutinizing him intently. “Are we so hard-pressed for soldiers that we are resorting to…” She makes another huffed noise of amusement as she tugs slightly on the sleeve of his kyudo-gi. “Hm...anachronisms?”

He frowns, jerking his arm to get her hand off his sleeve. “Do not underestimate my skills. I did not earn the reputation that I have for nothing, after all.”

She ignores that comment and him as she turns and addresses the Talon sniper again.

“...this was Akande’s idea, wasn’t it?”

“Y-” Another nod.

Of course it was. How typical, he needed allies and then he goes and digs up the most bizarre candidates to fill his ranks. As if the little ‘cyberpunk’ and that... _thing_ down in the medical bay were not bad enough.

And certainly Widowmaker had heard of the Shimada name and the power associated behind it - but they could not even be called a shadow of their former selves. Dissolving into a fractured bunch of squabbling dogs; able to be taken down easily by Overwatch forces and other rival clans. It was disgraceful all the way down.

And Doomfist thought the one responsible for that dissolution and disgrace would be a valuable addition to the team?

No. No this would not do at all.

“Perhaps you should both return to Akande and tell him that we do not need the washed-up, castoff, prodigal son of a disgraced gang member when we already have a perfectly capable sniper among our ranks.”

She could see the subtle way the muscles tensed in his neck and jaw, and the corner of her mouth twitches in the slightest of smirks. Already, too easy. Prey on their emotions, and they always inevitably fall apart.

She’d have him unfit for duty and shipped back off to his little den of wolves back home in Japan before the end of the week, she was sure of it.

But Hanzo had not gotten this far in his life without being able to dish out scorn just as well as he could take it.

“Perhaps there was a reason I was recruited despite the fact that your organization already has a, as you say, ‘perfectly capable sniper.’”

He smiles in mock politeness; but stone was softer than the stare he leveled her way.

“Yet I wonder...if I am so ‘washed-up,’ just how capable are _you_ , really, if it is *my* services that Talon requires?”

There’s the slightest gasp audible from the Talon soldier.

Widowmaker, however, merely scoffs, unphased.

“Please. Can you even _fire_ a gun?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I can. But that is no indicator of skill. A traditional weapon can be just as effective as a modern one in properly trained hands.”

At that, he holds out a hand for the arrow she’s still clutching in her own.

“Now, if you are done with your childish insults and manhandling my arrow, I’d like it back. They take time to make, and I would prefer not to have to waste any more of it here than I have already.”

Widowmaker purses her frost-blue lips ever so slightly before she jerks her head at the other Talon sniper.

“You. Leave us.”

The woman could not have gotten out of there any faster unless she’d used one of Sombra’s translocators; leaving the other two alone in the nest.

Once more, she turns her attention back to Hanzo.

“So. You think you are here because you are better than I am, is that it?”

He shrugs. “I can think of no other reason why Talon would be so determined to have me despite the number of times I refused.”

“An interesting theory, given that adorable little stick and string on your back. You believe you can outsnipe me with *that* alone?”

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed defiantly. “I’ll have you know I would wager my bow against your rifle any day.”

She doesn’t give the archer a chance to prepare another response or even a defense. With long strides, Widowmaker swiftly approaches him; forcing him back against the wall behind him.

She was already slightly taller than him; but the heeled boots that were part of her particular uniform made Hanzo have to crane his neck to keep his gaze on hers and not in the revealing cut of her catsuit.

With her tattooed arm braced beside his head; her voice is low, and her gold eyes gleam with malice.

This was not some haughty woman who just happened to be good with a firearm. This was a predator with ice in her veins who would have no remorse about slaughtering him where he stood if she so desired it.

“That would be the last mistake you ever made. And perhaps... _it will be._ ”

Just as suddenly as she had him trapped against the wall, Widowmaker pulls away. Turning smartly on her heel, she retrieves her rifle before typing out a quick series of commands on a nearby keypad; sending out a signal for the other soldiers on the range to produce a fresh set of targets.

“So prove it, _petit chou_. Prove your so-called skills and the reputation you have. Talon does not take on just anyone, after all.”

Hanzo can only blink, still caught slightly off guard from her blatant intimidation attempt.

“...What?”

“ _Désolée_ , should I speak slower? Your bow, versus my gun. Prove your value to Talon...or begone.” Her tone is mocking, in the way a certain kind of individual with questionable morals might use with a particularly dense child. “Is that better? Do you understand now?”

Luckily, he recovers quickly and draws his bow from his back, already nocking an arrow as he takes his place opposite her. “Yes. My apologies.”

Before she even has her scope readied and sighted down, he launches the arrow; sending it square in the middle of his first target.

“It’s just difficult to comprehend anything through that accent of yours, that’s all.”

The crack of Widow’s Kiss echoed in the small space of the nest as her shot went neatly through her own target’s middle, and she smiles. Did he really think he was going to throw her off and get under her skin with such measly insults? Please. One could not hurt that which did not feel.

“I would think you of all people have no right to judge anyone on being incomprehensible. Assuming this is you sober, I can only imagine how much worse you must sound when you’ve drained your little bottle there.” She gestured towards the sake jug that hung from his belt.

Bullet and arrow strike their next targets, ones further away on the range than the first ones.

“I am perfectly coherent when intoxicated, and in multiple languages, I might add. And at least I have good taste. Perhaps you’d like me to prove that too, provided you can even hold your liquor?”

The next two shots swing at wild opposites - first hitting the furthest targets back on the range; then at a set that were technically closer in distance, but located high above the sniper’s nest towards the ceiling.

“Provided I can hold my liquor? Really? More like provided you get through this test. But if you manage it, then certainly, I’ll take you up on that offer too. Though I cannot imagine any form of sake qualifies as ‘good taste.”

“Better than some of the horse piss your country bottles and calls champagne that I’ve had the misfortune of tasting.”

Widowmaker’s eyes flash. She waits for him to fire first this time, then she changes course; her next bullet aimed not for her own target but the one he just shot; where it shatters the arrow into pieces before embedding itself right in the center like all the others.

Hanzo whips around, furious. “You insolent little-!”

“Ah ah ah.” She wags a finger at him, her feigned innocence betrayed by her pleased smirk. “Calm your heaving bosom, _mon_ _cher_. It’s only a friendly competition, no?”

He exhales a slow furious breath through his nose, the wood of his bow creaking slightly as he gripped it tighter in his fist. He refused to let her see any other signs of emotion, though. He would not give her the satisfaction. 

Just like Widowmaker, Hanzo proceeded to wait before firing his next shot. But unlike her, did not wait nearly so long to do so.

He draws a particular arrow from his quiver and fires it at an angle just before she pulls her trigger; where it bursts on impact into a latticework of shards that completely obliterates the target.

The bullet, meanwhile, slams into the metal framework where the target had once been attached with a ringing clang audible from across the field.

She stares for a few moments through her scope at the place where the target had been; unable to process what had just happened, before it finally clicks and she hits him with another one of those deadly glares.

Now it was the archer’s turn to smirk. “Simple geometry.”

“Destroying the targets will not give you an advantage, you know. But what a cute little toy. _Let me show you one of mine._ ”

She points a device strapped to her wrist outwards, launching something in a high arc from it before quickly raising her rifle again and shooting it in midair.

A cloud of indigo gas blooms out from the shattered glass vial and proceeds to obscure a good portion of the shooting range.

...Luckily for them and everyone else, after an incident in which some of those in Talon’s accounting department complained to Doomfist about the costs of treating or replacing soldiers poisoned by Widowmaker’s venom mines, the ones used for practice were simple colored smoke bombs.

Not that it would have affected much even if the mine had been a live one. Unbeknownst to the two of them as all their attention was focused on each other; the rest of the shooting range had gone silent as the other soldiers had stopped their own firing drills to watch the snipers.

“Use your simple geometry to get through _that_.”

She had him now. Her visor could easily penetrate the fog, and she proves it as she hits her next target easily. Unless he was sporting cybernetic enhancements (highly unlikely; if everything else on him was this old-fashioned), he’d only get through the field with sheer luck.

But still Hanzo smirks.

As he draws another type of arrow out of his quiver; one with a curiously flattened head instead of the traditional pointed ones of its siblings.

Once it disappears into the cloud of smoke; he closes his eyes after, as if in deep focus.

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything.

Widowmaker raised an eyebrow curiously, about to ask him what on earth he thought he was doing when his eyes fly open again and he pulls not one, but *three* arrows, rapidly shooting them all off in different directions.

At that point, the vents finally kicked in to filter out and disperse the haze off the range.

Revealing all three arrows having struck a different target dead-on.

“Impossible!”

She checks the accuracy readings on her visor.

100% for her.

100% for him.

No matter how far, no matter how difficult; his shots always landed.

And he used a bow and arrows. _Goddamned arrows._

How-?

Hanzo can only chuckle proudly as he re-shoulders his bow, crossing his arms over his chest. “You have not even *begun* to see impossible from me. But regrettably, I must concede this little competition. If only because I am out of ammunition.”

It was true. The quiver on his back was empty.

“So. Do I meet Talon’s requirements now? Or if you are still not convinced, perhaps you would prefer I pick up a gun as well?”

Widowmaker wasn’t sure what happened next. She had dealt with her share of arrogant snipers and soldiers before. Always, she either put them in their place, or simply waited for their hubris to catch up to them on the battlefield. She’d seen it happen so many times before - one little mistake and their fragile egos came apart at the seams. Often fatally.

And yet the next thing either of them knew, she had her rifle pointed directly at him. Crosshairs centered right in the middle of that broad chest of his.

That certainly knocks the smug expression off his face, and he raises his arms in a placating gesture. Though he still manages to keep his voice calm and even.

“...You do not want me for your enemy.”

_“Non, mais je ne te veux pas non plus en tant qu’allié.”_

Hanzo frowns, clearly not understanding the French that comes out in a quick stream from the spider’s mouth. After which the two of them just stare at each other for several moments. Unmoving. Unblinking.

Before Widowmaker finally lowers the gun and covers the action with another cold smile gracing her lips.

“Now, you meet the requirements, _mon cher_. Only a truly skilled sniper can remain calm when facing down the barrel of one of their own.”

“Your idea of an amusing initiation, I take it.”

...Actually it was Sombra’s; frequently surprising new recruits in the barracks by unstealthing when they were asleep and waking them up with a machine pistol pointed in their face, but he didn’t necessarily need to know that.

“Am I not allowed to have a sense of humor?”

“Based on some of the things I’ve seen, it’s hard to say *what* your organization allows and doesn’t, at this point.”

She has Widow’s Kiss taken apart and put back in its case once more; picking it up as she heads for the door out of the sniper’s nest. The other, newer weapons would have to be tested another day.

However, just before she leaves, she pauses, giving the archer a patronizing little pat on his shoulder. “Don’t worry _mon cher_ , you will learn quickly, I’m sure of it. Consider this your official welcome to Talon.”

And without waiting for a response, she goes. Leaving him standing there in the sniper’s nest as she left the armory and descended into the deeper part of the main base.

= o = o = o = o = o = o =

She did not keep her rifle with the weapons of the common rabble; no; there was a special lockup for the elite soldiers and their specialty gear - Doomfist originally had it made and commandeered for his iconic gauntlet when it wasn’t in use.

Normally she would have one of the underlings take it down there. But doing it herself gave her an excuse to get out.

As soon as Widowmaker stepped into the lift and the doors closed, she leaned back against the nearest wall, exhaling a shaky breath.

Something was wrong.

It was a miracle she managed to stay composed long enough to even get to the solitude of the elevator - though she was not the perfect killing machine for nothing. But still, something was very, very wrong.

Her heartrate, it was elevated - something that had not happened for a long time. Not since her finest moment as an assassin in King’s Row, anyway.

It was such a shock to her system, it made the world spin and her head throb painfully.

It didn’t make any sense. She did not feel. Could not, anymore. Why, then, would she suddenly have this reaction? Surely it was not just because of that arrogant archer fool and his surprising results on the shooting range?

No. No, of course not. Nevermind that she would never be thrown off by someone so insignificant to her, he just got lucky, that was all. No doubt he’d never manage those results again if he was pressed to replicate them.

Still. This was definite cause for worry. If something was happening to her physicality, she may have to go down to the medical bay...

The sniper felt another throb pulse in her head, and she had to close her eyes.

No. She would figure this out and put a stop to it before it came to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: “Non, mais je ne te veux pas non plus en tant qu’allié.” = "No, but I do not want you as an ally, either." 
> 
> Thank you @LittleBaguette for correcting my French since my dumb ass decided to learn Russian and Czech instead of it.
> 
> This took forever because some people decided to spite me to my face by A) giving D.Va and the hamster lore and not my main and B) putting a legendary emote for said main behind a $30 paywall. Fuck you Jeff, my boy Lucio deserves better aND MAYBE I'LL WRITE MY OWN DAMN LORE IF YOU'RE GOING TO SHIT ON ME LIKE THIS.
> 
> Ahem. Anyway. So I proceeded to throw myself at competitive mode for the first time ever in order to grind up the credits to get my boy a golden gun, because he deserves more than what Blizzard gives him. In the process I learned competitive is an eternally burning garbage fire; never play it; oh my god.
> 
> BUT YEAH HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED READING THESE CATTY BITCHES AS MUCH AS I ENJOYED WRITING THEM. Where will we go from here? You'll just have to find out~


	5. Chapter 5

**_Private Boardroom, Talon Operations Base_ **

The past week and a half had felt like a blur. A flurry of evaluations; orientations; acclimations to Talon’s particular way of operating...it felt more like being hired as a business executive for some multibillion dollar megacorporation than an induction as an elite agent into a terrorist group. 

...With paperwork to match. Hanzo did not think he’d ever signed so many ciphered contracts before in his life.

Though given Doomfist’s own history of business affairs in his family’s medical company (which Hanzo was rapidly becoming familiar with as well), the archer supposed it made sense. Why not operate Talon the same way? Everyone had their role; their place in the system; from the lowest armed grunt to the highest strategist. A rigorous structure that, despite its much less than legal activities, kept Talon threateningly organized. 

And this was even with Doomfist’s previous imprisonment and the loss of some of their other high-rankers - events that would have surely made many other similar groups fall apart. Whether it was to in-fighting, an inability to make decisions without a leader, or overall weakness…somehow Talon had survived them all.

There was something to be admired in that, at least. The triads back home could certainly learn a thing or two from the warlord’s methods…

Speaking of. The archer stood in the boardroom of the base he was now calling home; its more classical aesthetic startlingly removed from the sleek and high-tech look the rest of the place favored - wood-paneled walls and Baroque paintings instead of plexiglass and chrome.

Now that he’d been properly initiated into Talon, he was being given his first official assignment.

Doomfist sat the head of the large mahogany table; imposing and authoritative as always. Sitting on either side around him were several key members that Hanzo already recognized - such as Sombra; looking bored and scrolling through one of her many digital displays, and Moira; who gave him a smirk and a little wave of her eldritch fingers. As well as several others he did not.

Hanzo took his seat next to one of these unfamiliar faces; a rather well-dressed omnic who practically screamed money from every sharp crease of his designer suit.

“Ah, excellent, here he is now. Welcome, Mister Shimada. I trust you have found our accommodations acceptable?”

By that, Doomfist must have meant the quarters he had been assigned in his settling in at the base. Hanzo would not call the small suite just a ways off from the shooting range...spartan, it was not quite so bare as the average troops’ barracks that he’d seen, but perhaps...impersonal was the word he would choose.

Of course, that might change, should his position here end up being long-term. Only time would tell.

“...acceptable enough. They will suit my needs just fine.”

“Good. Of course you have already met with some of Talon’s best here - in fact, I heard about your little match with LaCroix on the shooting range the other day.” Here Doomfist gives a hearty laugh, clearly amused. “Most impressive! I did not think I would see the day someone would even come close to being her equal.”

A few curious glances are sent towards the other sniper sitting further down as this is apparently news to them, but if Widowmaker was bothered by the Talon leader’s comments at all; her expression betrayed no sign of it whatsoever.

“But. Enough of the pleasantries. You’re finally getting your chance to contribute to Talon personally. I trust you and your particular set of skills are up to the task. Sanjay?”

At Doomfist’s word, one of the other unknown members stands; a tan-skinned man in a curious uniform and visor. 

With a few simple gestures, the man seems to conjure a number of small devices seemingly out of thin air in his gloved hands that then attach themselves to the table. With just another gesture, they were soon projecting a number of displays - Hanzo cannot quite make out everything, but he sees numerous articles, photos of what appear to be people rioting in subtropical slums juxtaposed alongside what was clearly a concert, as well as blueprints of a curious-looking device and several facilities and venues.

Perhaps Doomfist caught him examining the screens; because he addresses him again as the display is set up proper. “Sanjay Korpal here is a high-ranking architect for the Vishkar Corporation. They have made impressive strides with hard-light technology and construction, and are vital contributors to Talon’s efforts. Your first official assignment is courtesy of them.”

“Thank you, Akande. As most of you are aware, although some of you are perhaps not-…” 

The archer didn’t much care for the disdainful look that Sanjay shot him through the maze of digital projections. 

“...Vishkar’s vision has been attempting to bring order to some of the world’s poorest regions. We go in, we revitalize infrastructure and replace it with our own improved designs. We give them what they could never have obtained and accomplished on their own, all in the name of progress. Though our methods may be...different, Talon and Vishkar still have similar visions: to make the world a better place. To have these communities resist growth in the name of some misguided ideal of keeping their individualism is foolishness of the highest caliber and does them far more harm than good in the long run.”

Hanzo was rapidly becoming aware that; along with a certain criminal eccentricity; it seemed that burying one’s schemes in a shroud of corporate jargon or eloquent wording to make their actions sound less deplorable than they actually were was *also* a requirement for being a high-ranking member of Talon.

“However...despite all of that, there are still some who disagree with our vision and the methods we’ve had to use in order to bring it about, and it has become such a problem that now more...drastic...measures must be taken to deal with it.”

A digital file is ‘slid’ his way, and Hanzo gets a chance to properly look through the details for himself. There’s an article, with an apparent attached dossier.

_ “Lúcio Brings Music to Life with Synaesthesia World Tour” _

The first thing he notices; as he regards the picture of a young man working an impressive set of turntables for a massive crowd; is the interesting frog-like tattoo on his shoulder there. Not as impressive as Hanzo’s own dragon, but...still. He could appreciate good ink.

Lúcio Correia dos Santos. Twenty-six. Brazilian, born and raised in Rio de Janerio. The community he hailed from struck down particularly hard by economic downturn in the aftermath of the Omnic Crisis. With effort and a desire to uplift said community, he went from underground street performer to world-renowned pop star. 

The dossier had more photos; some taken from concerts and events. Some that must have come from social media and public records. One photograph even showed what must have been the young DJ with his father. An older man who...oddly enough, appeared to be wearing the same kind of uniform as Sanjay.

Overall, the file was quite informative, and yet. The archer’s brows furrows slightly in confusion.

“...I do not understand. You wish to assassinate...a musician?”

Certainly these kinds of assignments weren’t uncommon - he had been offered and even taken on a few contracts out on artists, but they were usually the result of an oppressive government seeking the ultimate censor or a jealous rival wanting to bump off competition. He could not see how this tied into Talon’s overall plans, though.

“If only it were that simple. Despite his own father giving the best years of his life to furthering Vishkar’s ideals, dos Santos seems to think that we are doing something immoral and is at the heart of a group of so-called ‘freedom fighters’ stirring up unrest in Rio.” 

A wave of Sanjay’s hand has the file that Hanzo is reading suddenly swept aside and the blueprint of the strange device brought back up. Upon closer examination, it looked like a weapon of some sort; like a gun with a speaker attached to the end of it.

“Dos Santos stole Vishkar sonic technology from one of our facilities, claiming it as his ‘birthright’ and proceeded to use it not just against our company and security in his attempts to push back our developments and expansions, but also to catapult his way to ill-gotten and undeserved fame.”

Sombra suddenly chimes in, contempt practically oozing from every word. “Y’know, maybe if you hadn’t worked ‘em like slaves and forced curfew on them, they’d have been a little more receptive to your whole plan to gentrify their homes.”

The architect snaps back. “No one deserves something for nothing, it is not unreasonable to expect these people to contribute to their own improvement! And a strict schedule is the only way anything could get done! Their resistance is only furthering their own misfortune!” 

Sombra can only roll her eyes before going back to her own inscrutable displays.

“...psh. You’re just still ticked off about the lid being blown on your company’s little plans with LumériCo.”

Sanjay actually has to take a breath to calm himself before he resumes his professional demeanor, but there was no denying the absolute  _ hatred _ in his eyes above the plastic smile he put on.

Judging by the lack of response from anyone else at the table, this kind of outburst surprised nobody.

“ _ Anyway. _ Due to this being brought to public light by dos Santos and his ‘star status’, it could incite more insurrection and lead to further incidents in other locations where Vishkar is operating - Kurjikstan, Australia. Possibly even at home in India. That is why...we need something to be done about him.”

Hanzo looked through the dossier again. For a DJ from one of the world’s poorest regions, he’d accomplished much already. And so young and rebellious. Almost reminded him of-...

He averts his gaze from the file; regarding the architect again to keep his thoughts focused on the task at hand.

It would not do for him to fail his first mission due to something as foolish as  _ sentiment. _

“So, that is why you need him killed.”

“Again, perhaps it is an extreme reaction…but not only will it potentially de-moralize and quash further acts of rebellion, it will allow us to reclaim our stolen technology that is rightfully ours.”

“I see. And where and when will this be done?”

A 3D-projection of an outdoor venue appeared next.

“He has a sold-out concert in Cologne, Germany next week, to kick off his Synaesthesia tour. At the Tanzbrunnen. We have until then to prepare.”

“Very well.”

With a conductor-like sweep of his hand, the displays and devices all vanish just as easily as they appeared, and Sanjay resumes his seat.

Doomfist leans forward in his own then, folding his hands together. “So. Your thoughts?”

The archer merely shrugs. “Hm. A simple enough task. Though given such high-profile status, it will not be...easy to make this a stealthy mission, even for me. You have considered for that, yes?”

Unlike the simple rich, the famous had an annoying habit of being surrounded by people at any and all times. Not just bodyguards, but fans, the press, staff, and any other number of hanger-ons...sometimes even all of them at once.

Arguably, they were all expendable. But Hanzo preferred not to make things messier than they had to be - for his own sake more than anyone else’s. If there were people foolish enough to get in his way of a contract, it was, as the saying went, ‘their funeral.’ But then the extra risk made the reward less worth it. At least in his eyes.

Doomfist just waves a hand dismissively. “The goal of this mission is to demoralize...much like the assassination of Tekhartha Mondatta was used to incense the anti-omnic tensions in England. Stealth will only be required to get you in and, hopefully, out. The kill itself...that should be very public. It will send a message.”

With that, he smiles again.

“So. I hope yours and LaCroix’s German is good-”

_ “Quoi? Excusez-moi?” _

It was the first time Widowmaker had actually spoken up the entire meeting, suddenly sitting up attentively.

“Surely, you do not expect me to go along as well?”

Odd looks are exchanged over the protest. Even Doomfist looks genuinely puzzled.

“...You...have a reason not to? It is Shimada’s first mission with us. While I have faith in him, I also like having insurance.”

She scoffs. “Yes, actually. It is an  _ amateur’s _ mission. He himself stated it was simple enough. If you have such faith in him; he should be able to pull it off easily, and without ‘insurance’, as you say. Unless you think he can’t actually do it. In which case, I question why he was brought to Talon in the first place.”

Hanzo bristled at that. “Need I remind you that I put my skills to test and proved myself your equal just the other day-”

“Oh, yes, on the  _ practice range.  _ Against stationary targets in the safety of the base. When you have actually proven yourself in the field, cher, perhaps then we shall have something to be impressed by.”

He rises to his feet suddenly. “I have probably completed more contracts in just the past year than you have your entire career-!”

“And how many of those contracts were you babysat by a more superior agent, hm?”

“ENOUGH!”

The sound of Doomfist’s booming voice is enough to jerk both snipers out of their squabble, and he steeples his large fingers together as his brow furrows in frustration.

The one downside of having the best of the best in Talon is that they ALL considered themselves the best and refused to believe anyone else could potentially be on their level of skill. He almost preferred his physical clashes with the elite agents of Overwatch compared to having to mediate the clash of egos in his own organization.

...almost.

“So many of you test my patience. I do not know exactly why you two are so opposed to working together when your job descriptions do not run counter-intuitive to each other.”

At this particularly loaded comment, Sanjay and Sombra pretended to be intently engrossed with their own files and refused to look in Doomfist’s direction.

“Your duty is to eliminate enemies of Talon. That’s it. You have your assignment. Your task now is to complete it. I do not care what you think of each other, so long as it does not interfere with the actual job at hand. Do I make myself clear?”

There’s a long silence as Widowmaker and Hanzo just regard each other coldly.

“Perhaps I wasn’t heard properly.  _ Do I make myself clear? _ ”

Until:

“...It will be done.”

_ “Oui. _ One way or another.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I explained every single thing that's been going wrong in my life and putting me off my writing game, you'd think I was making the crazy shit up. Incidentally, if any of you know how to have a horse discreetly murdered, let me know.
> 
> But yes! We're really getting into the nitty-gritty of plot now and the real meat of the story. I'm just as excited as you (probably) are!
> 
> (Also, as a Lucio main, just know that every bit of this assassination plan hurts me more than you can possibly imagine.)


End file.
